


you only ever have one kind of true feeling

by vivalagay



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Piano Sex, Secret Crush, this is literally just hw being soft for jh as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 15:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11762859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivalagay/pseuds/vivalagay
Summary: Kihyun looks up at him then, a stupid smile tugging at his lips with mirth. "So, do you think Jooheon is cute, or is it just a coincidence that I've been incessantly catching you eye-fucking him for the last few days?""Um," Hyungwon murmurs, "yes?"or, It's the coffee Hyungwon comes back for every morning of the weekend, and definitely has nothing to do with the smiley pianist who plays live from 8 to 10 (you know, just for specifics.)





	you only ever have one kind of true feeling

**Author's Note:**

> could i really resist a fic after hyungwon going on about how lovely and cute jooheon is in that broadcast????? i love writing when the sun is rising and i should be asleep nfjkdn this ship has always been so cute to me
> 
> title from『次々続々 (one by one, one after another)』by angerme

There aren't many things going for Hyungwon.

It's Friday, and he's the only one sitting alone at the window of the small café, cup of coffee now gone lukewarm in front of him as he stares (eyes shooting daggers, probably) at the empty notebook held in his hands. Empty, because it's meaningless, like everything else he's been vomiting onto paper lately. Hyungwon can feel the hollowness of every little word he's written just by looking at it. There, just in a matter of few seconds, he's close to ripping in half another failed attempt of an assignment and trashing it, but Minhyuk always hates when he ruins his work (no matter how big a pile of shit it is,) so with long fingers of forced nonchalance, he flips to another page reflecting true blankness in all its entirety.

(Almost as nice as ramming his head into a brick wall.)

"Still here?" Kihyun questions when he approaches his table, as if it's funny somehow that Hyungwon has nothing better to do than sit in a café with writer's block and cold coffee. "You can mope around at home, you know? Away from my workplace."

Hyungwon reaches for his cup in spite of this. "Don't you see me finishing my coffee?"

"I see you taking up space," Kihyun retorts. "You've been here for two hours."

"I'm going to finally leave a bad review on this place if you don't stop timing me enjoying my me time."

"Every second of your life is your me time." Kihyun sighs at the cup in his hands, and then decides to take it. "I'll get Minnie to make you another cappuccino."

Hyungwon's not dumb enough to think that Kihyun won't make him pay for it.

The bell jingles at the door, and Hyungwon's so used to it these days that he doesn't care who walks through it anymore. Except now, at this very moment, he has no coffee and his non-fiction words have no meaning, so all he has left to do is look at the unfamiliar boy and his white jeans that walk through the door. Kihyun greets him, a smile on his lips all cheesy and amiable, like how Hyungwon remembers he'd used to smile at him before they'd became best friends and it was too late to get rid of each other.

"Full house," the customer smiles, these dimples appearing in his cheeks that Hyungwon suddenly becomes interested in. His chewed pencil absently twirls in between his fingers. "I should probably come back later."

"You don't have to," Kihyun tells him, a hand grabbing for his arm, and it's most definitely revenge of some sort. Hyungwon knows instantly from the smile Kihyun shoots him so innocently with his hand slipping to the back of this stranger that he knows it's an ass-y move. Kihyun is full of ass-y moves. "This is my friend, Hyungwon. He's been sitting all alone. He wouldn't mind your company, would he?"

It's Hyungwon's turn to smile and shake his head, so he does, and hopes that he doesn't seem nauseated at the thought of human interaction. At the way Kihyun silently snorts, it's clear he looks as if his head has been shoved underwater. But Hyungwon wants to slowly roll over Kihyun with a car, so he tries his best to seem genuinely delighted to be sitting here with some stranger during _me time_ , looking at a boy with sunglasses pushed in silver hair on a sunless day and a small smile that pushes round cheeks at small, brown eyes.

"Hi," Hyungwon says with a nod he decides will do for a bow.

The boy returns it with a lower head and scoots his seat into the table until it has met the belly of his tee shirt. "Hey."

Kihyun smiles into his palm, and Hyungwon thinks of all the ways that he could fight him. "Well, I should get back to work. Regular, Jooheon?"

"Regular," he confirms, and then Kihyun wisps away, all business. Hyungwon purses his lips and looks at the notebook neglected on the table, thinking of other ways to avoid his responsibilities that don't involve staring at the cute stranger across from him.

Well, the stranger. _The_ stranger. The _silver-haired_ stranger. Which is a factual adjective and all Hyungwon thinks of him, because he doesn't know him and he barely even caught the name Kihyun uttered out before he'd been swept off into barista duty so that's _all_ Hyungwon can say about him, of course.

Maybe the crinkles at his eyes are a bit pleasing, and even though he's barely heard anything come from his lips, his voice was pretty nice, or something like that. The boy has cheeks that sort of remind him of a little kid, and little kids are cute. So, maybe his cheeks are cute, or something like that. And — fucking hell, where was Minhyuk with his damned cappuccino already?

"Do you write?" the boy suddenly questions.

Hyungwon jumps since he's slightly leaning over the table with curiosity, a little closer than Hyungwon remembers him being a few seconds ago, and it just catches him the fuck off guard, okay? "Um," he bites his lips, "I write a little."

"Me too." His dimples are a little amazing. Hyungwon has long fingers. He imagines poking his cheek and his entire pointer finger disappearing in it. "But like song lyrics. Music. Stuff like that."

"Oh." Hyungwon surely could do better than that, but he's probably grimacing by now, chewing at his lips like he's starved, and overall making an entire fool of himself. So, great, Kihyun found a way for him to never want to step into this café ever again. Good for him. "That's cool. Yeah."

The boy nods, silently smiling, because Hyungwon gave him nothing to work with and still has no idea what else to give him, so they both settle this emptiness with Jooheon scrolling through his phone and Hyungwon biting his lips red until Minhyuk comes waddling along with the cappuccino that fogs the circle lenses of his glasses.

He hates this.

(And it's stupid that Hyungwon thinks of this boy's smile a little too much when he leaves.)

 

 

 

. . .

 

 

 

"Poetry guy," is what he calls him when they find each other again at the back of the bakery.

Hyungwon jumps when he appears from the backdoor, smiling with some instrument stand— _keyboard stand?_ —in hand. Currently, Jooheon looks pleasing with his sliver hair slicked back to show the brown at his roots and a button-down shirt of a terrible pattern buttoned low enough for Hyungwon to stare too long at his collarbones. It's really a shame that they have to run into each other with Hyungwon squatted on the ground with messy hair and an oversized tee shirt. It's too early to look like he's trying anyway. The only thing's that got him out of the bed at 11AM is the cigarette he'd forgotten to light after Kihyun threw a bag of bread that hadn't reached the desirable aesthetics to be kept at him.

Bread is bread to Hyungwon. But even if he's squatted on the ground like a homeless man, rose petal jam smeared on his thick lips and bread shoved in his mouth, he gets it. Business is business.

He barely stands, and then stumbles over. The boy chuckles.

"I don't write poetry," Hyungwon tells him nonchalantly around the bread. A smooth recovery from his fall. It's a talent of his by now. Long legs are good with awful balance.

"Oh," the boy shrugs. "You just look sort of like a poet with the glasses and all. That was just a joke then."

"Well, I did write a haiku about fatigue once in high school."

It was actually middle school and about about how Hyungwon was bored in class, but the boy gives him a pleased smile like he's smart or something, so, well, that'll do.

"What are you doing back here anyway?" 

Hyungwon looks at the bread and squeezes it so that the jam oozes a little more. "Mostly because I can't smoke in front of the building, but presently because of the bread. Want some?"

"I'm good," the boy smiles. He cocks his head at him a little, and it's got to be the sun doing some weird, satanic shit with the lenses of his glasses to make it seem like the morning sky has suddenly opened up and handed him a true gift. "You shouldn't smoke. You're too handsome."

"I'm handsome?" Hyungwon asks.

"Yeah," he says, like that's nothing — which it is, of course. It's not like no one has ever told him that he's handsome. Actually, he thinks Minhyuk told him that he's handsome before he'd even said hi the first time they'd met each other. So, whatever. Okay. This boy thinks he's handsome. Nice. Doesn't affect Hyungwon at all. "Well, I'll see you later, poetry guy. Enjoy your bread."

Hyungwon waves him off.

(And quits smoking for two hours.)

 

 

 

. . . 

 

 

 

"His name is Jooheon, you know," Kihyun tells him when it's the end of the day and he smells of coffee beans and sugary cream. He locks the doors, and Hyungwon easily drags himself down the street alongside him because he's too lazy to catch a bus home. 

"Whose name is Jooheon?"

"Our pianist," he says slowly, like Hyungwon is a toddler. "The guy with the silver hair."

"Oh. Okay?"

And Kihyun just nonchalantly continues, small hands tucked in his pockets. "He plays at the café every Friday and Saturday morning from 8 to 10. Pretty good too. Minhyuk's boyfriend —"

"Hoseok?"

"No, Hyunwoo," Kihyun says. "Minhyuk broke up with Hoseok like four weeks ago."

"Oh, right. The big guy. Got it."

"Sometimes Minhyuk's boyfriend sings with him, or he sings for himself," Kihyun carries on. "You should come and listen."

"At eight o'clock in the morning?"

Kihyun shrugs. A small laugh escapes Hyungwon's lips. How ridiculous. 

 

 

 

. . . 

 

 

 

Hyungwon is groggy and gross and he hides himself in a large tee shirt that hangs from his elbows and a black cap that leaves a shadow over his dark eyes because he's up too early, and —

And he really hates himself.

More than his droopy eyelids and the fluff of his dark hair hanging in his glasses, irritating and messy. More than the brightness of the sky that stretches out in front of him too damn early and the brightness of Jooheon's smile that's enough for Hyungwon to squint at him when he sees him shuffling through the door with his last breath.

(Hyungwon's dying wish is for all this to be worth it —

 _the coffee,_ that is.Which he is here for. An iced americano with a pump of hazelnut for him to invisibly sip in the back of the café whilst the boy—Jooheon, apparently—coincidentally plays his piano.) 

"I don't think Changkyunie has taken the bread from the oven at seven in the morning," Jooheon suddenly chuckles. There's a teacup in his hand that sloshes a chai latte scent onto the table when he bows, an apologetic laugh sheepishly escaping from his lips with the lift of his head. His hair is a fringe over his forehead. Fluffy curls in his small eyes and soft to the touch. Probably. "Sorry about that."

Hyungwon smiles dopily, and then they're both smiling at each other with light, childish giggles. "You play the piano?"

"Yeah," Jooheon shrugs, licking around the pink of his lips and the sun flickering in his eyes from the large window that looks into Seoul. "I write songs. I think I told you that."

"I think I remember you telling me that, yeah."

"But I'm not confident enough to perform any of them yet." His hands are lingering in his pockets. He squints as his eyes roam over the café before he's looking to Hyungwon once again with a smile. "You'll stay for me?"

"What?"

"To hear me play?"

"Oh," Hyungwon nods slow, "sure. I'll hear you play."

Jooheon smiles into his cup of chai, and then trails off with slow footsteps, lingering a little here and there before he's by his keyboard again.

(And he's so precise and gentle. Face calm with a brush of delight, and his fingers fluid over white and black keys and his gentle voice flowing lightly over the café. Hyungwon's sure there's a sleep-deprived uni student that Kihyun rings up an order for, some guy on the corner clicking away on his laptop as a sleepy and smiling Minhyuk pushes a steaming cup onto the table for him, but all he sees is dimples and round cheeks, a sweet voice that could easily loll him to sleep in his ears and tugging at his heart, jerking it a little.)

So, he's good. Beautiful, kind of.

That has nothing to do with Hyungwon.

 

 

 

. . .

 

 

 

"The bread is good here," Jooheon smiles. He does that a lot, Hyungwon has noticed. Smiling. His dimples deep in his cheeks, and if he smiles too hard there's a little tinge of pink there. Like a brush of blush to his skin.

"Kihyun's pretty good at baking," Hyungwon tells him, and there's really no reason why Jooheon has joined him on the steps at the back of the café, a hood falling from his fluffy hair on another Friday morning with his keyboard stand beside him. Hyungwon just decides he wouldn't mind sharing his bread, and Jooheon doesn't decline this time.

They sit on the steps together with their legs brushing from time-to-time because Jooheon needs room for his keyboard stand, and Hyungwon's leg bounces a little when he's nervous.

Not that he's nervous.

Well, he is a little nervous. But he doesn't know Jooheon enough to not feel nervous, and that's why he's nervous.

There's a lot Hyungwon wants to say to him that he isn't sure what it exactly is. He wants to be able to talk to him and keep him smiling and tell him that he's amazing at the piano and how much he likes his voice.

But he's Hyungwon so he stays quiet with Jooheon beside him smiling into a bite of bread and looking at the sky, probably at how the clouds move so slowly there because it's all Hyungwon is looking at to keep him from staring at Jooheon.

Not that there's anything to stare at. There isn't. There just isn't much _else_ to stare at that Jooheon could easily become one of the few options there is to gaze at stupidly, wondering up something else lame and entirely daft to come from his lips next.

Jooheon looks at him suddenly. "Sitting here is pretty calming."

"Oh," Hyungwon nods and pushes his lips into a quick smile, "yeah."

"There's a bench that I like to write my songs. I guess it's my muse. The atmosphere is nice and calm, and there's a little pond there that sometimes ducks come and go. It reminds of here, although here smells like sugar."

They're by a large dumpster littered with a swarm of buzzing flies. The faint smell of sugar is in the air, but Hyungwon can still hear traffic in the distance, honking horns and loud chatter from somewhere far away. There's nothing relaxing about the atmosphere. Nothing nice and calm. 

He laughs lightly, and then glances over to Jooheon who's already looking at him. Probably waiting for a response.

Hyungwon can see his eyes entirely now that they aren't squinting from under his full cheeks. It angers Hyungwon how the sun is such a fucking bitch at the back of this café that Jooheon's cheekbones seem to glow from underneath it in a way that ruins any plan to Not Stare at Jooheon.

Hyungwon's staring alright. Probably just gaping his dumbass away like they're two strangers unexpectedly bumping into each other on a busy street.

Then Jooheon's smiling again, and wow —

_there it is._

Here, it is nice and calm.

 

 

 

. . .

 

 

 

Jooheon understands things when Hyungwon isn't sure many understand.

He doesn't need Hyungwon to talk when he's slipping in the seat beside him after his fingers dance over keys and fill Hyungwon with so many melodies that he desperately hangs onto.

At eight in the morning, at eleven in the morning (when Jooheon joins him at the backdoor for bread filled with the taste of summer, and their knees touching too much through their jeans,) Hyungwon is stupid and dopey, and Jooheon is everything that he needs.

Jooheon smiles at him and plays with Hyungwon's big sleeves absently, and they don't ever really need to talk.

They still talk, though, and sometimes, depending on the mood, Jooheon will murmur a little of his song lyrics to him with a pretty singing voice that Hyungwon discovers he's a little timid and insecure of.

(Sometimes, Hyungwon wonders what it'd feel like to squish his cheeks. Just grab a handful of his face and have his lips cutely poke out, puckered and pink.)

(Sometimes, Hyungwon wonders what it'd feel like to kiss him.)

 

 

 

. . .

 

 

 

 

"You think he's cute?" Kihyun says teasingly. A whole dumbass and asshole. Tragic combination. 

Like Hyungwon even knows where the hell he got that one from anyway. It's too early in the morning for idiocy, and Hyungwon rather not be pushed into an inquiry of his staring. Which he admittedly does a lot of. Randomly and consistently. Anywhere and everywhere.

Can't he just notice a man's elbows and scrutinize them for a few seconds without his best friend down his throat about how cute said person is? Sure, he came to a mental conclusion that Jooheon's elbows are fairly cute. So, what? He's a man with cute elbows. He could be an elbow model or something. What does that have to do with anything?

"I'll take that as a yes," Kihyun suddenly chuckles.

Hyungwon gapes—if gape is even the right word; he doesn't know why he's starting to react with his mouth falling open lately—only a little slightly because he's still in the mist of returning to reality from the other reality where he's looking at Jooheon's cute elbows. 

"You ass," Hyungwon sputters, frowning. His glasses are slipping from the bridge of his nose, but he doesn't bother pushing a finger at them."You didn't even give me enough time to answer."

Kihyun looks up at him then, a stupid smile tugging at his lips with mirth. "So, do you think Jooheon is cute, or is it just a coincidence that I've been incessantly catching you eye-fucking him for the last few days?"

"Um," Hyungwon mutters, "yes?"

Kihyun rolls his eyes at him, so amused when there's nothing to be amused with, and then simply walks away with no further words.

Jooheon shoots him a smile before Hyungwon can go back to staring at his elbows, waving a hand at him.

His smile makes it a little harder to wave back.

 

 

 

. . .

 

 

 

It's nice and calm here. Even nicer with Jooheon sat next to him, notebook in his lap, fingers stained gray with lead, and his eyes still and serious.

Hyungwon wishes he could focus with such a loud quiet around him. With the scent of oak and the gentle plop of the pond in the distance. But it's too hard.

"No inspiration?" Jooheon asks to the blank sheet of paper that's remained in Hyungwon's lap. Slowly, he shakes his head, and Jooheon frowns for him. "Sorry."

"Writers are all different," Hyungwon tells him, because not even himself really has a _spot._ Do non-fiction writers even have a _spot?_ Hyungwon has really never been struck with inspiration, never saw someone or something as his muse.

He would never be good for poetry.

"That's what I love about art," Jooheon says then. He exhales softly and smiles from the page of his notebook to Hyungwon's eyes. "It's all different. Never really one thing. It's everything."

"Like science," Hyungwon agrees, stupidly. Jooheon finds it acceptable enough to chuckle with his head dropping a little and fingers brushing at the silver hair that hangs in his eyes.

"I could write anywhere if I was with you."

Hyungwon has to blink a bit and cock his head.

Did he just —

"You're so calm. It makes my fingers tingle."

And, well, okay.

Hyungwon has to think to himself for a little. Because he makes Jooheon's fingers tingle, which is what he's sure Jooheon just sat here and told him. He tingles Jooheon's fingers, apparently, and Jooheon can write anywhere with Hyungwon around. Okay. He just said that.

(He thinks about asking him to say it again, even maybe whipping out his phone to save Jooheon's words as a voice memo, because _Hyungwon makes Jooheon's fucking fingers tingle_.)

Their fingers are so weird and so awkward that it takes a bit of eye contact and God for them to finally interlace with ease. Hyungwon is nowhere near ease. His face is a fucking oven, and his fingers feel numb, so numb, that it feels as if he can't even feel the warmth that is Jooheon's hand. But he feels it surely. So warm. He feels it too deeply.

He imagines that the way Jooheon's eyes are looking at him he's saying, _I could write a million songs about you._

Because Hyungwon's entirely looking at him like, _I definitely want to eat your whole cute fucking face off._

Jooheon's beaming with his beautiful dimples and his cutely squinting eyes, and then he turns away so nonchalantly to scribble more words onto a sheet of his notebook.

(It's nice and calm here.)

 

 

 

. . .

 

 

 

Jooheon is lovely. Jooheon is so soft and so pretty.

Jooheon is the softest in Hyungwon's oversized sweaters. He tugs at the sleeves, and he smiles because Jooheon is so good at smiling.

He's the cutest with his hair a mess and curly. When he looks something like Hyungwon wouldn't mind waking up and rolling over to every morning with a raspy voice and a tired smile.

Jooheon is so soft when he leans against him. When he wraps his arms around Hyungwon, and when Hyungwon cuddles him and Jooheon seems so content and happy.

Jooheon is so, so lovely, that Hyungwon just wants to squeeze him and squeeze him.

Hyungwon wonders if he could possibly be any good at poetry.

But he could never fit all the things that make Jooheon so lovable in one haiku.

 

 

 

. . .

 

 

 

"Have you ever played the piano?" Jooheon asks.

His fingers are pressed into the keys, and Hyungwon stares at them so intently as they glide across the keyboard so slowly and naturally. It's mesmerizing to watch.

"No," he says, sitting beside him. "Do I have piano potential by appearance?"

Jooheon laughs. "Your fingers are just really long and thin. Perfect piano fingers."

"I played the piano a little in my kid days."

Which is the truth. Hyungwon could violently perform "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on demand.

"I can tell." Jooheon glances at him, and then looks at the keys again to press his fingers for another note. The song is quiet and broken, but beautiful somehow because Jooheon is the one making it.

"My fingers are skilled," Hyungwon says.

There's a pause, but Jooheon doesn't bother glancing at him. He smiles and resumes playing. "Really?"

"Like Beethoven," he tells him, confidently, his voice low. Hyungwon presses his fingers into the keys of what he does remember from his short lessons and adds a lower pitch to Jooheon's impromptu song. "I'd kill "Moonlight Sonata" for you if ever given the chance."

"Really?" Jooheon says again. His fingers pause, and then fall into his lap. "Play it for me."

Hyungwon bites his lips, and he surely isn't the one that scoots in a little closer to Jooheon so that his face is hovering over him. Hyungwon would never do that. "We're on the same page, right?"

"Um, I was hoping that we were?'

"I was trying to be funny, mostly. I'm shit at the piano. I could stomp on the piano keys if you want to hear me play "Moonlight Sonata," but it probably won't be too pleasant."

"Oh," Jooheon laughs, and then he furrows his brows, throwing his head back and laughing even louder. "Oh. Jesus. Fuck, I'm so stupid. I thought you were talking about —"

"Fingering you?"

Jooheon bites his lips. A blush rises to his cheeks, and Hyungwon's already madly blushing. "Uh, yeah."

Well, maybe it could've had a double meaning, but Hyungwon doesn't know what he ever means anymore.

He's stupid with Jooheon. He's an out right idiot who smiles too much and gazes at him like this silver-haired boy and his dimpled, glowing cheeks are the true night sky of this universe.

The first kiss they share is slow and unsure, then Hyungwon leans in a little closer to him, gripping gently at Jooheon's shirt as if he could possibly slip off the piano seat, and they're tasting each other's lips again.

And it's just as Hyungwon imagined it. Soft and so sweet.

 

 

 

. . .

 

 

 

(They laugh too much. Hyungwon can't help it when his hands are never in the right place yet every part of Jooheon feels as if it's right.

Jooheon smiles at him with his flushed cheeks, and a terrible song fills the room as Jooheon's leg and palms push into the keys of seemingly every note. But Hyungwon plays a beautiful rendition of "Midnight Sonata" with Jooheon in his mouth and Jooheon's firm, pianist fingers curling at the nape of his neck where Hyungwon still feels it even hours later. Rubbing at it a little. Wondering how anything of Jooheon is even real.)

Hyungwon thinks of all the pretty poetry he could write with just Jooheon's name as the title.

 

 

 

. . .

 

 

 

"You're cute," Hyungwon tells him.

And there, he's said it.

Jooheon's sat across from him with his chai latte and bright smile, too cute in Hyungwon's oversized sweatshirt that he feels as if he's only ever bought clothes for Jooheon to look lost in.

And to —

_and to look cute._

"No I'm not," Jooheon chuckles because he probably knows that he is, and they kiss in the afternoon on the steps where the air is sugar and a dumpster is right there beside them and the afternoon rings of a song still too much of the city.

But Jooheon has his arm around him, his hand on Hyungwon's jaw when he kisses him, and here, it's nice and calm.

**Author's Note:**

> follow my [tumblr](https://nottechae.tumblr.com/)!


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